The Protege V: Harvest
by Alpha Ori
Summary: The Spring Festival comes to an end, as Legolas must say goodbye to his friends a lovers. A forest immersed in battle and hardship awaits the return of its prodigal son, but he will not be travelling alone.
1. Taming Yaavan

The Protégé V: Harvest

This is the final installment of The Protégé, Book 1. Remember that the tales do not stand alone well, and that you should read them in the correct order. The Protégé, Training Day, Protect and Defend and Lord of the Forests. Please enjoy the tale.

Beta reader: Thank you Mindirith, as always.

CHAPTER ONE: Taming Yaavan

One week, only one week and he would be riding back to the Greenwood a king, a sparkling crown upon his brow and a gaping hole in his heart.

As of today, his advisors worked relentlessly with Erestor and his team as they tied the loose ends of their negotiations, signed agreements and discussed military and cultural exchanges. With Aradan and Llyn in residence, it was not necessary for him to join the talks, and he knew he would be consulted should there be any disagreements. His presence would only be required a few days before departure, when travel arrangements, tactics and logistics would be agreed upon.

The experience had been life-changing in so many ways. The political objectives they had so diligently thought out during those interminable days and nights spent in the king's offices, had been met and amply surpassed; they had reaped generous trade agreements that would lend a higher quality of life to his, until now, self-sufficient, yet somewhat Spartan realm. They had secured the all-important military alliances with Imladris and Lorien – such a central part of this festival; they would no longer be alone against the constant barrage of foulness, no longer alone to face the unbearable weight of sadness and loss, no longer the only ones to hold funeral rites on an almost daily basis.

Yet ever the optimist, as was his obligation, he had signed treaties to share and promote their respective cultures through the organization of music and dance festivals and an interesting tutoring program between aspiring artists, politicians, healers and warriors. They had also agreed to carry out a military exchange program between officers of their respective armies, who would later create the backbone of a future, united Elven army.

During the previous week, it had been dictated that any elf would be valid to participate in the program, yet they should submit their candidature formally, stating in what capacity they wished to tutor, and in which realm. Each would be discussed and decided later in the week, and Legolas was more than a little curious about who would be requesting what. One example was his friend Llyn, who seemed to be more than a little interested in Elrohir, or at least it seemed that way to him. Since she had befriended Arwen, she had come into closer contact with him - the outcome, as yet, unknown. How her father would take to his daughter staying on in Imladris he could not say, please him it would _not_, at least not emotionally.

Personally, Legolas had found love – not comfort in the arms of a friend, he had never been wanting for that. What he had found in Glorfindel would accompany him always, whatever came to pass; the Gondolidrim had become an inseparable part of his life, one he knew he could never bear to forsake. And then there was Elrond, the mighty son of Earendil – a living myth with whom he had shared pleasure, and would continue to do so, for he loved Elrond, not as he did Glorfindel, for the feeling was different, yet still much more than the mere sharing of sex. And Erestor – sweet, loving Erestor, so cool and calm on the outside, when he was not flapping his robed arms in the air, yet such a cauldron of bubbling passion in private. Erestor had a keen mind; he was a friend Legolas knew he would always have.

He had made other friends during his time here, too. Melven had not taken to him at first, and it had taken a painful lesson to show him he was wrong. Legolas had then saved his young son from the orcs and in the process, had thoroughly frightened the boy with his strange fighting. Yet it had brought Legolas and Melven together, and even his young son had vowed friendship with the Forest Lord. And then there were his lover's sons, Elladan and Elrohir. A fine pair they were, full of life and boisterous playfulness – he wondered at their battle skills though. He had seen their worth as healers, and indeed leaders in that capacity, but on the battlefield, he remained unconvinced for the moment, yet of the two, it was Elladan with whom he felt most affinity. He sensed a deep desire to learn, improve, to serve, and he admired that.

Haldir and his brother Rumil had proved to be enjoyable company, although he had, admittedly, spent less time with them; however he looked forward to exploring friendship with them when he got the opportunity, perhaps even give Haldir the opportunity for revenge, after having trounced the marchwarden upon the archery field.

Others had made friends too, love even. Amanthor had found Lindir, and both had found Mentathiel. Together they had composed the suite of music that had been played at his 'demonstration'. All three were in great demand, for they had received offers to travel to Mithlond and Lorien to compose music at their lords' courts. They had been overwhelmed by their success, hailed as the two greatest musicians and the foremost performer of the age. It would be interesting indeed to see if they would put in their candidatures for the exchanges.

And of course, he had discovered his destiny, not as Lord of the Forests, for this he already knew – he had discovered his purpose, the reason why Yavanna had chosen him - there was no more mystery, no more waiting and wondering – it was done, and now was the time for action.

Arwen, however, had mystified him, for he had felt something tilt when he had met her, and he knew it had been the same for her. It was not sexual desire, he knew, yet it puzzled him still, for he had felt her as he would a soul mate, it felt as it had when he had first met Glorfindel, but without the sexual desire. He knew in his heart that she was a part of that final destiny, yet he could not guess exactly how that would come to pass.

So many experiences, so much to tell of. Yet he was waxing nostalgic he knew, and he reminded himself again that he still had a whole week left, a week he meant to make unforgettable, for he would not see his lovers for some time, and so he would collect the memories the week yielded, and take them back with him to the Greenwood until he could meet with them once more.

...

The only thing that broke the monotony of black was the silver twining of his boots and vambraces, and the subtle swish of the short green sash around his waist. From there upwards, the forest lord was naked, his hair a mantle of stunning gold, flowing in rivulets down his muscled back and shoulders, the sides pulled back tightly and secured by a simple, leather thong.

A leather harness crossed his generous pectoral muscles, and from over his left shoulder, loomed the imposing, intimidating pommel of Aulë's creation, Yaavan.

He had not seen the engraving when first he had picked up the weapon, for it was written on the side of the hilt. He had wondered then, why she would call a sword 'Harvest'. The possibilities were multiple, for 'harvest' means to gather, collect, reap or pluck the ripe produce of the earth. Indeed when killing orcs and other enemies, he _was_ reaping, cutting, plucking heads from orcs and the likes, but it seemed a peculiar choice of words; 'reaper' or something more – dramatic, would have sounded more intimidating. Yet Yavanna was mistress of the growing things on Arda, and he wondered then if the naming was related to his future destiny, would he reap good things? Would he help to create a world in which harvests would be bountiful for all, after all, had not Lord Elrond seen a white flower blossom on his chest in the midst of a vision? His destiny was tied to the living earth, it was really quite obvious if he looked at it that way.

As he trotted down the stairs, he nodded to those that passed him, observing as they would bow in return, yet stare at the mighty weapon on his back, for it was imposing indeed, the tip reaching down to the backs of his knees, the blade curving outwards.

Stepping out into the morning sun, he heard a voice call out to him.

"My Lord! You are training today?"

"Elladan, please, just Legolas if you will."

"Forgive me. Now, will you join us? For we have all become far too complacent of late, getting too used to the good life with all this partying; our muscles are becoming flabby, which is good news for the orcs, yet it must be remedied. What say you?"

"I have arranged to train with Glorfindel and this – my new sword. I will not parry today, but simply run through the basic stances, for I must accustom myself to its weight and dimensions."

"You have a new sword? How so? Did you commission it from the Imladrian smiths, then?" he asked, somewhat mystified that the lord would want a new sword – he was a prince, now king – surely he was not wonting for a blade?

"Nay, Elladan. This sword is part of Yavanna's gift to me," he began to explain, as he unsheathed the mighty weapon, holding it out for Elladan to inspect.

Yet the twin could not bring himself to touch it, for he was lost in stunned amazement at the blade laid out before him. It was overly long, and he knew that when he took it up in his hands, it would surely weigh at least twice his own formidable sword.

"Take it," urged Legolas, watching the play of emotions on his friend's mesmerized face.

Slowly, tentatively, he accepted the sword in both hands, immediately confirming his suspicions – no wonder Legolas needed to train – this was a daunting challenge the king set himself, for the sword seemed impossible to wield, even for one such as he.

Grasping it in his right hand, he held it up before his reverent eyes, reading the inscription along the entire length of the blade, a chill running through him as he did so. Letting his eyes travel down to the ornate hilt and pommel, he spotted the secondary inscription, from Yavanna to her protégé, and again, his body shook with awe, for he was touching an object that Aulë had forged, touched by a Vala.

"I understand now," he murmured, as his eyes continued to roam over the exquisite craftsmanship. "And who better than Glorfindel of Gondolin to help you with this weapon of the Valar? For I would wager there is no better sword master than he, except perhaps yourself."

He reverently handed the sword back to its new owner, watching the king's muscles flex as he resheathed the weapon on his back.

"Well then, shall we? For our part, we will not interrupt you unless Glorfindel drives you too hard", he smirked. "If he takes it upon himself to train an elf, he can be relentless, believe me! Should you require our services in rescuing you from the torture, just give me the nod, my friend."

Laughing, Legolas patted his shoulder as they began walking together, thinking that no one could be tougher than Daugion, the Greenwood's weapons master. He knew his lover would be demanding, for his reputation preceded him, although perhaps he had not anticipated just how hard he _would_ drive him – not only because that was his way, but because the fear of loss would drive him all the harder – fear of losing the one he loved most.

….

Approaching one of the many training arenas, the 'band of friends' was finally complete, as they found Elrohir, Haldir and Arwen sitting on a low wall, a large basket before Arwen's feet.

"My Lady, Elrohir, Haldir, a good morning to you all."

Bowing to the king, they smiled as they took in his ever surprising, exotic appearance. Arwen specifically, was following the planes and defined lines of his torso, not quite having noticed before how powerful this elf was, while Haldir and Elrohir were staring at the protruding pommel of Legolas' sword, wondering just how they had managed not to notice the imposing weapon before now.

"Well, if you will excuse me?" said Legolas, as he walked over to the other side of the arena, wishing to isolate himself a little from his private audience, for he needed to prepare himself before commencing his adjustment training. Elladan would answer the questions he knew they would have about Yaavan.

A few moments later, Glorfindel arrived, dressed as a weapons instructor, his face determined, eyes alight, this was General Glorfindel. He was looking forward to this session with his lord. Yes, they had fought in an exhibition together, but only once, and never in battle. His methods were renowned throughout Elvendom – he was hard, strict, disciplined to a fault, he would drive his pupils to extenuation if he saw potential, and Legolas was already a Grand Master.

The others looked on, smiling mischievously, for they thought perhaps that poor Legolas had no idea what he had taken on when he had asked Glorfindel to aid him. They would stay and watch every grueling moment, their training be damned, as long as the general allowed, for here, on the training grounds, _he_ was king.

"I, we would stay and watch a while, if that is acceptable, Glorfindel?" asked Elladan, in an overly-light tone, knowing he spoke for them all.

Glorfindel considered a moment before answering.

"Very well. But in exchange, you must first understand what it is the king and I will strive to achieve. If you stay, it will be to learn. What say you?"

"Of course," nodded Elrohir, his companions nodding affirmatively.

"First, consider the _nature_ of what we do. This is adjustment training, given from one master to another. It is about wielding a new weapon, heavier, larger than what its master has been accustomed to. In order to use the weapon in battle, the wielder must be secure, confident, and proficient. Bear this in mind as you watch. The second thing to remember is _who_ the adjustment is directed at. Adjusting a newly trained warrior to a heavier sword is not the same as adjusting a grand master to a sword made by the Valar themselves, Aulë, no less. Indeed this is no '_heavier sword'_; this is an entirely different class of weapon. Thirdly, consider power and precision, as opposed to speed and strength. Power is strength added to control, and precision should never be compromised in favour of speed, which should only ever be a complement, never an end in itself, not with the blade.

Very few elves are capable of what you are about to witness, and Legolas is one of them. 'Tis true that the Greenwood warriors are a tough band, but that will not make this exercise any easier. Observe, and should you wish to comment when today's session is over, I would be honored to elucidate further."

"We will," answered Haldir, as the others nodded their understanding. What Glorfindel said made a lot of sense to them, yet the inherent difficulty of what Legolas proposed was not immediately obvious. And so, with their curiosity acutely peaked, they settled themselves and began to observe as the king continued his preparations.

Being relatively early, there were no other arenas in use. This, however, would change in an hour or so, when the more diligent warriors would come to train.

Legolas sat cross-legged, an unsheathed Yaavan in front of him, glinting mischievously in the morning sun, as if daring her new master to tame her.

He closed his eyes and centred himself, blocking out all sounds, all sensations, all thoughts, until there was peace. And then, he slowly began to filter his thoughts, one by one, thinking first on his objective, knowing that he would achieve it. He brought his body into focus, willing his strength, power and stamina to the fore, knowing he would not falter. He ordered his mind to channel all conscious thought into his body, his movements, that no other stimulus would affect him – no emotion, no sensation, no pain.

Standing slowly now, Legolas proceeded to bend himself backwards until his hands reached the floor over his head. He then moved his body up into a perfect handstand, yet the movement had been so slow he seemed to defy the laws of natural science. He held the position for long moments, nary a sway or tremble to his arms, until he bent at the waist, allowing his legs to touch the ground, bringing his torso up once more.

Opening his legs to the front and back, he moved his left arm back, bending at the elbow as his right hand moved out to the front, as if gesturing for his foe to move towards him. He repeated the move to the other side and then centred himself once more.

His left leg moved into the air, forcing his torso to the side and stopping at the height of his shoulder, where it stayed for long moments, eliciting a gasp of disbelief from the band of spectators. Lowering the leg back to the floor, he repeated the movement with his left; again, no imbalance, no involuntary movement at all.

Legolas opened his eyes, breathed deeply and took Yaavan in his hand before jogging over to Glorfindel, who was waiting patiently for him, knowing the importance that correct preparation had for the warrior. Indeed he noted the blank expression on his face, the almost hypnotic screen over his steely green eyes.

Legolas turned to his 'master' and bowed low, as was custom in the Greenwood and Gondolin. He slowly held out the sword, placing it over both palms and offering it to his instructor.

"Master, I request your aid in wielding this sword, named Yaavan, that I may be worthy of it."

Glorfindel looked down at it, unable to stop himself from gasping as he reached out, not quite touching the exquisite, polished metal. Legolas had explained the sword to him, at least as best he could, yet nothing could have prepared him for what lay in the lord's hands.

"My Lord, this is – it is, _magnificent_! May I?" he asked.

"Of course."

Reaching for the pommel, he held the sword up in front of his face with both hands, eliciting stunned exclamations from their onlookers, for there, along the entire blade, were etched the words:

'_The Valar command you.'_

"Oh, sweet Elbereth," whispered Haldir.

Glorfindel continued to examine the sword with his eyes, and with a sharp intake of breath, he read the second inscription around the hilt, one only he could see.

'_Yavanna protects you'._

"I am honoured to aid you in your task, my Lord. Do you submit to my command, in the ways of Gondolin?"

"I do."

"Then come."

They walked into the centre of the arena, and Glorfindel began to make a few practice strokes with the blade.

"It is very heavy, perfectly balanced. He who wields this sword will be indestructible, almost."

"Take it from me and place it in your harness."

Glorfindel now reached for his own sword, ready to demonstrate what he wanted.

"Now, follow my rhythm; feet at ready stance."

Legolas adjusted his feet, readying himself.

"Reach – draw – ready!" he cried as he demonstrated the three movements, waiting for the king to mimic him.

Legolas followed the instructions, observing the rhythm of Glorfindel's orders. Again and again, they repeated these simple movements, as the general barked the words, circling his pupil, observing posture, stance, power and balance, touching here or there when something was not quite right.

Elrohir was mesmerized by the repetitive movements, watching over and over as they became more and more precise; the lord followed his orders with absolute discipline, not a hint of friendship between them, their faces an unreadable mask.

After one full hour of this simple exercise, Glorfindel called a halt, watching his pupil closely, for although the movements themselves were simple, to demand perfect precision and power required surprising physical effort, one which, as yet, was not reflected in Legolas' posture.

The king sheathed the weapon, bowed, then moved over to the sidelines, where his friends sat.

Sweat glistened on his skin, his hair beginning to dampen. His eyes searched for water, as Arwen handed him a skin which he promptly took to his lips, drinking deeply. Arwen watched as his Adam's apple moved up and down, his neck muscles taught. Elladan glanced sideways at his brother; had Legolas not been Glorfindel's lover, they would have smirked, yet they were unsure of the situation. Arwen was obviously attracted to him, but how would Glorfindel react to that, had he even noticed? they wondered. Elladan was tempted to make conversation, but then thought better of it, for the king still wore that steely mask, and he thought perhaps that he would be intruding, breaking his concentration.

Glorfindel joined them then, watching his lover as he handed the skin back to Arwen, blowing out as he tempered his breathing. The training area was coming alive, as other warriors from Imladris, Lorien and the Greenwood began to take up their weapons and pair off into the vacant arenas. However, they were distracted by the occupants of the first arena, for Lord Glorfindel was instructing Lord Legolas!

Not the least of them was Galdithion, who left his fellow warriors to sit with the group of friends, bowing to his lord before taking a seat next to Elladan, nodding to the group who took little notice of his arrival, so engrossed they were in what was happening between the sword master and the warrior.

He had been one of the very few who knew of the existence of Yaavan, though this was his first look at the unsheathed metal; he was _not_ going to miss this – not for all the gold of his lord king's vaults.

"You are an excellent pupil, my Lord, yet we have only just begun - are you ready for more?"

Bowing once more, he followed the general into the centre.

"Now, tell me. In the Greenwood, are the basic stances numbered?"

"Yes"

"Ready."

"Reach – draw – ready – one – ready – one…"

And so Legolas went from his ready stance to a simple front lunge and back. It was strange to Glorfindel however, for although the stance was correct, the movement of the sword hand before the lunge, and the free hand, was different; he would show forearm first, move his body more to the side – it was an interesting addition he would try himself.

Another fifteen minutes saw more stances incorporated, up to five now, and although they were simple moves, they were executed with such energy and accuracy that the whole training ground was watching – and learning.

Legolas, however, was getting the workout of his life, for to carry out the stances perfectly for such a long time, and with such a heavy sword was not easy at all, not even for him. His muscles screamed for mercy, aching to the point of cramping, but he was nothing if not disciplined, following through until Glorfindel called for a second halt, after another grueling hour.

Bowing again, he guzzled the water Glorfindel lobbed at him, not caring when it spilled down his chest, indeed when he had drank his full, he tipped it over his head, shaking off the excess and sending tiny crystals of water into the air.

Glorfindel was enjoying himself, he knew he was being hard on his lover, but he also knew he could take it; Legolas needed to be able to use his sword sooner than he would later – it was a matter of personal security, and he would not see that jeopardized.

"Ready!" he bellowed then, the friends startling at the sudden order, and Legolas began again, this time, running through all ten stances. Glorfindel had him performing them at a slow rhythm which he knew would be more demanding on the body, a necessary tactic in order to get to grips with the weight; and so the session continued - lunge, withdraw, lunge, stab, half turn, backward thrust,…

Another hour had gone by, and now, the twins and Arwen had been joined by the others on the field, watching avidly, the only sound to be heard were Glorfindel's barked orders and the constant whirl of metal sliding through air.

Another halt, yet Legolas did not move from the centre, for he did not want to engage in conversation, he was too centred, too focused, he could not lose that delicate balance, for if he did, he would sink to the floor and disgrace himself. It was Galdithion who understood perfectly why his lord did not approach them, and so he picked up the water skin and walked over to the heaving lord who was standing stock still beside Glorfindel, who was talking to him as he circled him, yet when he caught sight of Galdithion, he stood apart, allowing him to approach with the water.

Legolas took the skin and drank deeply, breathing heavily through his nose as he did so. Nodding to his guard he handed back the skin, controlling his breathing before Glorfindel would once more, push him into action.

Giving his pupil time to catch his breath and refresh himself, Glorfindel pondered on his next move; he knew he could not stretch this session much further, but he would make the last leg of it as intense as the king could take; he would work with space now, add it to the movements of the sword. He would combine stances with three-dimensional movement.

He had been training for over three hours now, the effort was proving monumental, yet he still had some reserves, something Glorfindel had already realized as he barked once more for him to adopt the ready stance, his powerful voice echoing through the otherwise silent glade.

"Hûr! - Heria!"

And Legolas sprang into action, combining stances with the attack and defense moves that Glorfindel hollered at him in rhythmic succession.

"Bennas! Adel! Echor! Delia!"

"Hûl!"

He was a swirling, stabbing, slicing, lunging in every possible direction; upwards, sideways, backwards – Glorfindel left no space unworked, no corners or angles unused, as the lord obeyed the orders, one after the other.

"Osgar! Echor! Edaid osgar!"

The orders never ceased, one after the other as the king cut down his invisible foes, not once faltering, not allowing himself to think of his body, blocking out the timid, distant voice in his brain that told him he was tired, that he should stop – he would not allow the distraction.

"Brenia!" shouted Glorfindel, drawing out the final vowel, willing the king to continue just a little longer.

"Nîf, Echor, Nîf, Hûn, Pelthaes, Dôl, Achad…"

"Hûr…"

The king came to a sudden halt, holding his ready stance, his chest heaving as rivulets of sweat poured from his face, his mouth opened in a grimace of pure fatigue.

Glorfindel walked up to the perfectly controlled warrior before him, who did not return his gaze but looked straight ahead, holding on to his sword as if to dear life.

"Brave, dauntless warrior, my King. You will be unbeatable in but two or three days. Take your rest."

Legolas bowed, which was returned by Glorfindel, signaling the end of the session – at which Legolas wavered as his knees promptly buckled, his fall broken by Glorfindel's loving arms as they lowered him into a kneeling position. He could take no more, sweat poured from every inch of skin, his heart hammered in his chest, his hair was dripping, his chest heaved, his hands shook. He had not felt this bad since he was a cadet so many years ago.

Glorfindel reached for the skin of water that Elladan now held out to him, offering the beaten elf the cool leather bag, which he gripped with both hands. Yet so winded was the king, that he could but take small sips of the cool liquid – he needed to catch his breath and calm his racing heart before imbibing large quantities of liquid – it would not do for him to bring it back up onto Glorfindel's magnificent boots.

The friends had risen, concern clouding their features, until it became clear to them that Legolas just needed a little time to collect himself. And so they waited until he had drunk his fill and his breathing began to normalize itself somewhat.

Legolas turned his exhausted face to his master, squinting at him.

"You – are – exigent_,_ - Lord – Glorfindel."

And now, Elladan laughed loud and hard, for he had told him so!

Glorfindel held a hand out to the beaten elf and hauled him to his unsteady feet.

"I think it is time for a rest, I am sure our Forest Lord agrees," drawled Haldir, for he had enjoyed watching the session immensely, indeed had learned from it; and of course there was that morbid sense of satisfaction at seeing the greatest down on his knees, humbled by the training of the great Glorfindel – indeed this Forest Lord was not impervious at all, just tough - very, very tough.

"I see you are all delighted, I am glad you are _enjoying_ yourselves," said Legolas in mock sarcasm, as he sheathed Yaavan, already noting the pull of muscles, he would need to stretch lest he pull one.

Legolas nodded to his friends, as Glorfindel lead the way back to the house – slowly. Once inside the vestibule, the king requested hot water be taken to his rooms, and wearily climbed the stairs, his lover behind him.

As they reached his suite, Legolas felt Glorfindel behind him, and smiled to himself; he knew his lover felt guilty, yet there was no reason, he had done his job admirably, and this was just what Legolas needed. He had become far too complacent in the last few weeks, and it was a luxury he simply could not afford himself. From today, he would train like this every day, until it bothered him no more.

….

Sindarin translation:

Hûr: ready (for battle)

Heria: begin (suddenly, and vigorously)

Bennas: angle, corner

Adel: behind, to the rear

Echor: circle

Delia: conceal

Hûl: cry of encouragement in battle

Osgar: cut

Edaid osgar: double cut

Brenia: endure

Nîf: front

Hûn: heart

Pelthaes: pivot

Dôl: head

Achad: neck

Reference: English – Sindarin dictionary .


	2. Masteriing Yaavan

CHAPTER TWO: Mastering Yaavan

The five friends sat under a shady willow, next to a bubbling brook that Arwen had led them to. Opening her basket, she took out a set of glasses yet there was no wine in sight, much to the dismay of her brothers and friends, who had been watching her every move, 'as dogs do when elven food is to be had,' thought Arwen.

However, she rose and made her way over to the mossy rocks lining the banks of the stream, and pulled on a concealed cord, retrieving – a bottle of crisp, cool white wine.

Turning back to her friends, she smiled mischievously as she took in the childish expressions of delighted anticipation on the males' faces.

Elladan took his glass to his lips and drew a generous gulp, feeling the chilled liquid as it flowed down his throat like a silken ribbon.

"Ah, that is good," he said, as the others tasted the brew, rolling it over their palates, sampling the retro-nasal bouquet.

"Now, what say you, my friends, to the spectacle we have just witnessed?" began Elrohir.

"_That_ was nothing short of amazing, brother. I have never seen the likes. You surely remember our stance training – we never took it seriously, for we did not consider it to be real fighting – we wanted to learn the attacks and parries, defense moves and the likes, stances seemed to be unnecessary - _posturing_, if you will."

"When did you realize you were wrong?" enquired Haldir, gulping at his own wine with relish, for the day was warm.

"To be honest? Just now, and that is the truth."

"And how many times did Glorfindel chide you for your misconceived idea?" asked Galdithion as he relaxed onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow, watching the older twin as he spoke.

"Impossible to say, Galdithion", continued Elladan. "Every time we slacked off, every time we became exasperated because we could not understand what we had done wrong. And yet now, watching Legolas perform them, and then seamlessly change into battle moves, I clearly saw why they were, _are_ – so important, do you see my point?"

"Indeed I do," he smiled. He thought he may become very good friends with Elladan, for he was humble, in spite of his exalted family and position. And so he beamed beautifully, and was rewarded by the sudden, yet well-hidden surprise on Elladan's face, which promptly turned into a half-lidded smile.

Arwen smiled to herself, for she did believe that her brother had just felt the first stirrings of desire. Her father would be heartened, she knew, not that she would tell him, not yet, at least.

…..

It had been Elladan and Haldir who had searched for Glorfindel after their mid-morning refreshments at the brook. They had many questions regarding what they had witnessed, and more than a few requests, for amongst the valley dwellers, they were counted as good warriors, yet more than this, they were _vocational _warriors – and took every opportunity to be had for learning and improving their skill. Elladan at least tried, when he was not under the influence of his strong-willed twin, Elrohir, who had always been more interested in the arts and sciences. Yes, he was a good warrior, but he was not motivated enough to acquire the kind of skill and discipline Elladan knew was inherent in the Grand Master, and that is what Elladan wanted, yet all too many times he had been roped into his brother's mischief, had been too weak to pull away from the all-encompassing strength of his sibling's character. And so, at the end of the day, he had not achieved all that he knew he would, one day be capable of. And so there he sat, in the gardens with his friend Haldir, asking questions and listening attentively to the grand master's replies, avidly soaking in the wisdom and experience that Glorfindel freely offered.

…..

Dinner was lively, for strangely, it was _now_ that the elves truly began to relax. The magic, the mystery and the wonder of the miracles that had been wrought were too solemn for boisterous celebration, at least it seemed that way to most. Oh, they had partied, but it was not the wild, unrestrained jubilation inherent to the Sylvan culture, and to a lesser extent to the Noldor. Now however, all had come to pass; the Lady's garden restored, a _king_ reigned once more in Elvendom – a protector chosen by Yavanna herself. Everything had come together to infuse them all with hope, love and joy – the future no longer seemed uncertain to them, for though darkness was rising, so was light, it was here, in Imladris.

Likewise for Legolas, the relief he felt was visible to all, for although he had been rigorously trained to hide that which could make him vulnerable, his life force shone and pulsed with such power that it simply escaped his will; he was happy and it was plain to those who cared to look.

Inevitably, talk at the table had eventually turned to Glorfindel's relentless sword training session with the lord. They spoke as they chuckled at how Legolas had finally sunk to his knees in a puddle of sweat, chatter that Legolas took with a good-natured grimace, as he piled his plate high with everything the table had to offer. Once more, Elrond looked on in amazement, as Erestor scowled fondly as he would at a growing youth.

He was ravenous, his muscles screaming for fuel, protein, anything to restore his strength, feed the growing muscles in his arms, his legs, his torso, everywhere.

Unbeknown to him, as he began to eat, the band of friends eyed him between bites of their own, soft smiles and restrained giggling giving away their ongoing playfulness at his cost. They noted how his right arm shoveled the food into his mouth with a strange, jerky movement, as if it pained him to do so. He could not sit still, moving constantly from one side to the other, rolling his left then right shoulder, yet on he ate, and drank, for he had been driven to dehydration, left but a shriveled sponge devoid of all liquid, 'no small thanks to my relentless slave master - sword master,' he corrected.

Glorfindel, however, was eating his own meal in absolute oblivion, or at least _that_ was the role he played. He knew he had discomforted his lover, but he would not admit to that, not in public. Truth be told, he had been so intent on getting him up to what Glorfindel imagined was his usual standard with a blade, that he had given little thought to anything else. And so he played the fool, looking for all the life of him as if nothing noteworthy had come to pass.

Elrond finally took pity and addressed the lord, yet his attempt to extricate Legolas from the amusing predicament proved - unfortunate.

"Legolas, you seem – uncomfortable…" as soon as the words had left his mouth, he knew what he had done, for the head of the table was a sudden chorus of chuckles, his own voice among them, much to his own shock and chagrin.

Legolas stopped eating and froze as the chuckling began. Scowling, he lifted his head and watched them. Yet instead of giving a scathing retort, he surprised them all.

"You – have – no – idea – how much – I – _ache_!" he enunciated carefully, glaring into Glorfindel's innocent, round eyes.

And Celeborn was lost in a sea of wheezing and spluttering, taking Gildor down with him as he in turn leant against Glorfindel's shoulder, unable to keep himself upright.

Now, even Legolas was beaming triumphantly as Glorfindel finally let his true emotions show, smiling somewhat abashedly yet comfortingly at him, as his body was shaken by Gildor's involuntary spasms of laughter.

As the hilarity died down and utensils were taken up again, Elrond began once more.

"Lord Legolas, I must say that I am familiar with my General's _techniques_, yet he does seem to have driven you particularly hard, you will need a hot bath and a massage before the night is through."

"Lord Elrond, I may need a _wheelbarrow_ before this night is through!"

And the laughter was back full-force, as the band of friends howled and slapped their thighs, and Arwen giggled as she reached for her handkerchief. 'How wonderful,' thought Mithrandir as he joined the jolliness. 'Laugh long and hard, protégé; may it bolster your soul against the toil of tomorrow.'

Dinner had finished, and the guests retired to their own entertainments, still tickled by the amusing events at the table. Yet Elrond had extended his invitation to his lovers and Gildor, as Glorfindel's close friend. Arriving at the lord's suite, they made themselves comfortable before the hearth, taking up seats on the low sofas, chairs and cushions, and procuring themselves with drinks.

"So," began Gildor, "will you be training again tomorrow, Lord Legolas? For I am sorry I missed such a worthy spectacle, by all accounts."

"Legolas. We are in the informal company of friends, Gildor, just Legolas if you please."

"Alright, if that is your wish."

"Yes, I believe we will continue, but that is for Glorfindel to decide, for I commended my adjustment training to him, therefore I will continue until he deems me ready to use Yaavan on the battle field."

Gildor turned to Glorfindel then, raising an eyebrow.

"Let me see now," began the general. "We are making good progress. You have to understand however, that there is more to this than adjustment, for the sword is the heaviest I have wielded, and although Legolas is powerfully built, even _he_ needs to build extra strength, for this sword was forged by Aulë for a purpose, and it will be no easy task, believe me."

"I should like to feel it in my own hands, a sword forged by the master himself…" said Gildor, his eyes far away.

"I would gladly yield her to you, if you wish for a turn with her," offered Legolas.

"Ah, I would likely make a fool of myself, yet I would be honored, Legolas," he said. He was genuinely beginning to like this elf. He was honorable and generous; he would be a good ally, and a good friend, he was also the most beautiful paradigm of male beauty he had ever seen. He coveted what Glorfindel seemed to have with him, for he was sure they were lovers, although Glorfindel had said nothing specifically, not that they had had time to talk, indeed this drink was the first informal setting in which he had coincided with his ex-lover.

Legolas reached out for his glass and pulled up abruptly, for his shoulder had protested the movement with a sharp stab that sent pain down to his little finger. Closing his eyes at the unexpected twinge, he trained his body's reactions before opening them again.

Elrond said nothing, but simply rose to his feet and stood behind the sitting lord.

"Relax back," he ordered.

Allowing his sore, aching body to caress the back of the soft sofa on which he sat, he felt Elrond begin to touch his shoulder, palpating here and there, feeling for a reaction from his patient. Digging his fingers into the space between arm and shoulder, the elf stiffened and Elrond knew he had found the source of his patient's discomfort.

"There, you have sprained yourself. You must not use this arm until I have been able to treat you. Keep it in your lap, like so," he said, as he reached for the extremity and placed it carefully over Legolas' thigh.

Tilting his head back to catch the healer's eye, he smiled and nodded his thanks.

"Happened to me when I switched swords," reminisced Erestor, remembering far into the past when his own weapons master had driven him hard and had sent him home shaking and boneless.

"My arm was trussed up in a slink for a week!"

"I suppose we all have our battles to talk of when it comes to weapons masters," said Gildor. "I too have been driven to insanity, and even skewered a few times by over-enthusiastic trainees - or masters," he added, with a side-long glance at his ex-lover.

Glorfindel chuckled. "You make me sound like a rabid demon, my friend. 'Twas your own fault, for you were not quick or skilled enough to dodge my metal!"

"I was a cadet, you brute. You have always driven your pupils far beyond their abilities, beyond the bounds of all that is reasonable," he said, taking a long swig of his drink.

Legolas watched the interaction taking place. He knew they were friends, suspected they had been lovers - they had obviously lived through many things in their youth, had obviously shared themselves.

Looking down into his cup, Legolas realized Elrond watched him as he smiled placidly, for he had guessed Legolas' thoughts.

Erestor moved closer to the Forest Lord as Gildor and Glorfindel continued to reminisce as Legolas watched. Placing a hand on his injured shoulder, he smiled as he began to carefully massage the area, taking care not to hurt him. Legolas closed his eyes, willing his tense muscles to relax under the careful attention of his lover, yet he continued to listen…

"And then, when you fell, I – something snapped and I fought with such intensity, such skill it seemed I was faster, stronger, better than I had ever been, and all your training came to the fore - every move, dodge and trick; I hacked my way to you, bringing them down one by one, until they had all been felled, and I reached you," finished Gildor. He had been immersed in the memory of that fatidic day he had nearly lost his lover, yet now his eyes were trained on the one he still wanted, after all this time, willing him to see the desire in his eyes.

And Glorfindel did, yet he would have to speak to Gildor, for he could no longer give him what he desired most, what he could see in his pleading eyes – love.

Legolas wondered if Glorfindel would take him to his bed, for he could see that he was, indeed, considering it – he desired this elf, he could see it, and he could not blame him, for he was pleasant to look upon.

Erestor hit upon a sore spot just then, jolting him painfully from his thoughts as he hissed.

"Ai, sweet lover, forgive me!" he said, and then realized he had done so in front of Gildor, who looked at Erestor strangely. He had thought Legolas with Glorfindel, but Erestor had just confused him and Glorfindel saw the danger. He would have to clear up Gildor's confusion sooner rather than later, lest he believe he still had a chance.

Elrond, ever observant, had gestured to Legolas and Erestor to accompany him, leaving the two elves to say what they must. His healer instincts would not allow him to leave his patient in pain for any longer, and of course it was the perfect excuse to allow the ex-lovers to talk.

Legolas obeyed, rising together with Erestor, and retreating into the lord's bedchamber.

Gildor turned to Glorfindel then, an expectant expression flitted over his face, but it was promptly wiped away as Glorfindel frowned. He knew that brutal honesty was the only way with Gildor, lest he see the slightest opening and wedge his foot in sideways.

"Gildor, I will not lie to you. I still desire you, want you. But we parted for a reason, my friend, and recent events have turned my emotions inside out. The truth is, that I love Legolas with a passion that is new to me. I know he is my soul mate, although our relationship is fresh. He has professed his love for me too, yet we are both of like minds in the enjoyment of sex. We take others to our beds if we so wish, yet we are clear that we are primary mates, while other lovers may be for a simple night of pleasure, or something more – the something more for us, are Elrond and Erestor…"

He watched Gildor as he processed the information. Glorfindel had left it clear to him that he would never be anything more than a night of pleasure, perhaps a little more, but not what Gildor still wanted, needed even, for no one could take Glorfindel's place in his heart.

"I have truly lost you, have I not? If I can only be the source of a night's pleasure to you, I have truly lost you, and it pains me so," he whispered, his eyes swimming with checked emotion.

"You are wrong, Gildor. I do not take just any elf to my bed – not normally, that is. I take only those most special to me, and you _are_ special to me, you always will be. It is true that I cannot love you as I do my Forest Lord, yet you and I will always be friends, lovers if you so wish it."

"And Legolas will not censor you, tell you he wants you to himself, for it is what _I _would do, were I him."

"And _that_ is why we parted, sweet Gildor." He held his ex-lover's gaze, willing him to see the truth in his words – and he did, for he bowed his head and nodded.

…..

Glorfindel walked into the bedchamber after bidding goodnight to a pensive Gildor, stopping in the doorway as he watched the scene before him.

Legolas was lying face-down, his bare torso glistening with the oil Elrond had applied to relax the taught, distended muscles. The healer stood to one side, holding one of the lord's arms high, maneuvering it to the side and back until he had the limb in a position that seemed to Glorfindel to be – painful.

Elrond slowly twisted as Legolas' face scrunched with the strain, feeling his muscles stretch with the movements.

Elrond let go then, as Legolas gasped loudly.

Slipping out of his formal robe, he straddled the prostrate elf and began to kneed the hard, rigid muscles of his back and shoulders, adding more therapeutic oil to his fingers and working it into the skin, soothing away the pain and distention, eliciting soft moans of relief from the face-down lord.

"Oh, Elrond," whispered Glorfindel, as he moved closer to the bed, drawing up beside Erestor. "Can you not massage him from the front?"

"Nay, not yet. For now, you watch, and enjoy," he said, smiling wickedly at the two elves who were staring down at the vulnerable warrior, who remained totally oblivious to their lascivious stares.

Resigned to the dictates of the Master Healer, they sat on the bed and watched the strange technique their Lord was using.

Erestor, however, was curious.

"Well? How did Gildor react – you told him, I take it?" he asked, his eyes not once leaving the healer's fingers as they sunk into the now pliant, oily flesh.

Glorfindel smiled sparingly as he glanced momentarily at the advisor.

"Well enough, Erestor. Yet he loves me still, I realize. It will not be enough for him to simply be lovers – he is not like Legolas in that regard. He is jealous, and sooner or later that jealousy may be the cause of unhappiness, I fear."

"And you wish to take him as a lover once more?" asked Elrond as he continued the long, soothing movements up the solidly-built back.

"I do. Yet I wonder at the wisdom of it myself. However, I _have_ made the situation clear to him; there is no room for misunderstanding, Elrond. I will take him to my bed – or ours – and see what the morning brings."

Meanwhile, Legolas had turned his head to face Glorfindel. He watched him as he finished his musings, a placid smile on his face, his mind wandering lustfully as his eyelids finally drooped, and he fell completely, and profoundly – asleep.

….

The past three days had been spent on the training grounds with Glorfindel, together with almost the entirety of resident warriors, who watched the sessions attentively from beginning to end. Glorfindel drove the lord harder than he had any of them, and that had been hard enough. They supposed that being a king did indeed have its drawbacks, yet they could not overcome their feelings of awe every time they came down to watch and learn. The younger trainees would ask their tutors questions on this or that stance, posture, block or attack, and smaller, improvised sessions could frequently be seen off to the sidelines as teachers demonstrated the moves that had drawn their pupil's attention. Even Elladan and Haldir had joined up and were trying out the different sequences on each other, watching and then imitating, remembering the details and nuances they had not quite understood, for they would then seek out Glorfindel and ask him to demonstrate them. They were motivated once more, after so many years of routine, now, they wanted more.

One of Glorfindel's most unusual tactics was to order Legolas to adopt an attack stance and hold it for minutes on end, circling him as he inspected his posture and strength, and if he saw a twinge or the slightest of movements, he would order him to start again.

Legolas had actually lost weight, yet his muscles were more toned than they had ever been, and he was starting to feel better; he still ached, but it was not the crippling sensation of the first days, partly thanks to Elrond's evening therapies…

Glorfindel had suggested Legolas work the sword into his standard training session, for if he could pull off the aerial work with Yaavan, then he would be ready, and so they stood in the centre of the arena, their daily spectators taking up their places as the session began. Today, however, Mithrandir and Gildor had joined them.

"Legolas, I want you to run through your standard sword-training routine but slowly – we will build up speed later on."

Nodding, he struck a ready stance with his mighty sword and balanced himself, standing stock still, sword to the front, left arm to the back, palm to the front. His left leg was straight behind him, knee almost scraping the floor. He began to move then, slowly yet precisely, twirling his sword, changing from one hand to the other, limbering up the muscles, turning 180 degrees, then 360 degrees. After five minutes, the movements became more fluid as the characteristic rhythmic nature of his dance began to materialize. He flowed through the space around him, the mighty sword howled and whined as he whirled it over his head, slicing through the air around him. It was time to move on to the third phase. And then he was a whirlwind, for he jumped and twisted, back-flipped then somersaulted, dropped to the ground in a defensive move, only to propel himself upwards and perform a stunning spectacle of aerial acrobatics, so characteristic of his singular fighting style. Under normal circumstances, he would have continued for at least another 10 minutes, yet he was already winded, and so he struck his final stance and bent over to catch his breath.

Standing back up, he realized that Glorfindel watched him, looking at him as if puzzled, his head cocked to the side, his brow furrowed.

Frowning himself now, his eyes wandered to the group of friends and spectators. They too were standing, looking at him with that very same expression, disbelief. He wondered then, if he had simply disappointed them.

Moving over to the pail of water, he dipped the cup into it and drank deeply, yet the silence continued, and he was uncomfortable, something that was not lost on his lover, as he snapped back to himself.

"Legolas," began Glorfindel hesitantly, catching his arm, "get used to it. You cannot see yourself when you fight, but trust me that what we just witnessed was – _incomprehensible_."

The lord set his lips, not quite sure if he was happy with that, yet his friends had joined them now, smiling as they clapped him on the shoulder, congratulating him, telling him he had done it, that he had been marvelous, stunning, unbeatable. He finally allowed himself to smile, albeit he knew he was still not up to his usual standard; his stamina had failed him long before it normally would, and so he resolved to continue training, and sparring, until he tired no more.

As they walked back to the house, Legolas turned to his lover, bestowing upon him a beautiful smile.

"Thank you, Glorfindel."

"You are most welcome, Legolas."

"I would like to spar from tomorrow, does that sound wise?"

"It does. Perhaps we can include Elladan and Haldir, you know your adjustment training has deeply motivated them, and I know that they will benefit greatly from it, what say you?"

"I say good, Glorfindel. That way there are more styles to counter."

"Good. Now, can I interest you in a well-deserved aperitif, my Lord?"

"Indeed you may," he smiled, watching his lover from the corner of his eye, knowing that 'aperetif' was in fact a synonym of 'nightcap', at least in Imladrian!

Not far behind them, Mithrandir observed, a placid smile gracing his lined face, eyes sparkling with the thought of things still to come, for this was his key player; he had befriended the foremost elves of all nations, gaining their love and respect. He was the greatest of warriors, contained within a body that no one could resist. He was intrepid, bold, a leader of elves, he commanded nature. He would, indeed be a harvester, just as his sword foretold.


	3. Lovers Will Come and Go

Author's note: please note that this chapter has been edited to comply with ffnet rules. You can read the full version at lotrfanfictiondotcom.

Beta reader: Mindirith

Chapter three: Lovers Will Come and Go

Just a few days ago, his body had been a trembling mess of quivering, cramping flesh. His training with Glorfindel had played havoc with him; he had felt weak, for the first time in centuries – yet now, now he felt good, just as he did when in the Greenwood, where warfare was a daily event, there he was always fit, on top form, strong, resistant.

He would train this morning, perhaps even spar with Glorfindel, Elladan and Haldir. After, he would seek out his lovers and see if he could procure himself with a little afternoon delight. There was so little time left, and he would not waste a single bit of it.

And so he jogged down to the barracks as he had done for the past few days now, only this time he did not ache, and Yaavan did not sit quite so heavily upon his shoulders.

…

The band of friends, which now counted the king amongst its numbers, were returning to the house after their morning spar, filthy except for Arwen, who was as fresh and crisp as a spring lettuce, smiling as she listened to the males banter and argue on this or that technique, or who had conquered who.

A breeze caught Legolas' long locks then, surprising him, for the day had been mild, not a cloud in sight; it was simply not logical, until he turned and saw what had caused it, for it was no weather condition, but the mighty wings of a majestic eagle, landing in the grounds beyond the gardens of Elrond's house, a brown-clad wizard atop its feathered shoulders - Aiwendil.

Legolas stood stock still, he could not have moved even if he had tried, yet his brain registered every detail of the huge bird standing before them; the colour of his feathers, the strange hue of his slanted eyes, the benevolent, wise expression on his face. He even seemed to smile at him, yet that could not be so – or could it? And then the sounds registered, for the bird spoke to him, not through its beak though, but through the canticle of nature.

'Hail, Lord of the Forests.'

The voice was deep and mellow, soothing yet commanding, a voice that struck a deep sense of empathy in his heart.

'Hail, Gwaihir, Windlord. I am honored to make your acquaintance, said Legolas duteously, yet somewhat lamely, for he was astonished at the sheer size of the animal, and of course there was the fact that he was speaking to it. His mouth had complied with strict protocol, but his mind was lagging far behind, listening to himself hail the winged lord.

"Come close," shouted the brown wizard as he gestured with his arm, laughing heartily as he watched his young, future apprentice meet his friend for the first time. With his head tilted to one side, and an expression of bedazzlement upon his fair face, he looked for all of him like a baffled child.

'The honour is mine, young Lord. I have come to pledge my fealty to you. Should you ever require help on that which is your path, you must call to me, and I will aid you, if I can.'

Now, Legolas knew the stories of old, and he remembered that the great eagles answered only to a privileged few, lords and leaders of their people, in the service of light and goodness.

'I am most honored, and shall remember your words,' he said, as he reached a tentative hand out to touch the magnificent beast before him, looking up in a silent request for permission before he did so. He thought again, that the bird had smiled – he was sure of it.

'You are right, young Lord. I _do_ smile, when the fancy takes me. You are surprised?'

'I admit it – it fascinates me, although why I do not know,' scowled the king, for it was true, he was somewhat ashamed that he had shown himself so ignorant, for he himself spoke to trees and other small animals – why not to an eagle? What did size matter when dealing with inter-species communication? But then it hit him, how had Gwaihir known what Legolas was thinking?

The bird chuckled as it turned its massive head back towards Aiwendil, who sat behind him, and then back again.

'No, I cannot read your mind, young King, but I heard your question, for you involuntarily projected it into the canticle. You speak and understand me, yet you cannot yet fully control what you _don't _want to say - I am sure Aiwendil will help you with that.'

"Well then, Legolas," said the brown wizard, "I will find you in the Greenwood once you return, for I have much to teach you! Farewell!" he exclaimed joyfully. Gwaihir let out a mighty scream as he swiveled round and took graceful flight once more, their destination, unknown.

Legolas turned back to the house in a daze, meeting his gaping friends head on. They had not moved, not said a single word, not even a gasp of surprise or awe, nothing.

Legolas looked to Mithrandir who had materialized beside him, and burst into contagious laughter, for he thought then that he must surely be sporting the same expression as they wore. Mithrandir guffawed along with the childish sounding giggles, for now, it was his friends' turn to feel like mewling children, and Legolas would have his revenge.

…

Needless to say, lunch was lively that day, for the morning had brought much excitement. The friends talked together about their training and the remarkable visit of Gwaihir, which most of Imladris had missed, save for a privileged few. Legolas, however, had seen his opportunity for revenge for their good-natured teasing after his grueling training sessions with Glorfindel.

"I must say, Haldir, that your teeth are perfectly white. Do you use Hardwood ash?" Galdithion snorted while Haldir cleared his throat. "And I must say you handled that errant fly quite well, Lord Elrohir – happened to me once and _I _nearly choked, truth be told, yet you! You were magnificent; having the presence of mind _to leave your mouth open_ so that the creature could escape was nothing short of commendable, my Lord."

The lords at the head of the table were listening to it all, smiling as they imagined what must have happened during the eagle's visit. All of them had met the Windlord at least once, except for Erestor, and they still remembered their first time - the awe he had inspired in their young hearts.

However, Elladan was now chuckling merrily, for he was thoroughly tickled by the king's witty comments, avidly awaiting the next pun as he skewered a green bean and stuffed it into his upturned mouth.

"Now, the _jewel_, my Lords, the _gem_ to crown today's extraordinary events, was when the Lord Elladan emitted the finest imitation of a Spotted Eagle-owl that I, as a wood elf, have ever heard, or seen."

He continued to explain as the table erupted into peels of silvery laughter.

"You see, the hoot, its timbre and tone, the richness and colour of it, were perfect," he continued as he used his arms and hands to illustrate and colour his words, his voice that of a school master imparting forest lore. The laughter was becoming louder, there were even some screams and hoots.

"And then, when his _head swiveled to the side_ to look at his lord brother, it glided as if on oiled hinges, his eyes rounded as those of the Spotted Eagle-owl are."

Loud exclamations hailed the final onslaught of unbridled, hysterical laughter – Elrohir especially, had lost his lordly demeanor entirely, and was bent over the table, his body jerking up and down as heave after heave of hilarity assaulted him. Indeed Elrond was laughing so hard that tears sprang to his eyes, only just quashing the urge to slap his thighs as Celeborn was wont to do.

It took them all a long while to finally calm themselves, yet it was enough for one elf to simply hoot, and the table would bet set off once more.

…

He had taken a short rest in his rooms - not that he was tired, yet his overactive mind needed to organize itself into some semblance of order, for in less than an hour, he would attend the closed-door meeting with the other lords in residence, in order to discuss and decide on the apprenticeships and exchanges, and to agree to their travel plans.

It had been publically dictated that any elf would be free to present their candidature for either of the programs. They were to make a formal, written request, stating to which realm they wished to travel, and in what capacity they wished to serve, along with any other information the candidate deemed relevant. The only requisite had been to have a true wish to learn, and then impart what had been learned in their homeland once their tutorship or exchange had concluded. They were also required to stay for at least one year, extendable to two if they so wished.

He had been surprised at some of the candidatures, both from the Greenwood and the other realms; Llyn had requested to stay in Imladris and tutor under the great Erestor, famed as the best negotiator in Elvendom. Her father, Aradan, had half-heartedly tried to dissuade her, for he did not wish to travel back to the forest kingdom without her, yet he knew the experience would be both positive and rewarding, to her personally, and later in her service to her homeland, in Greenwood. What that experience would bring on a personal level he knew not, but knowing his daughter, she would live life to the utmost, and be enriched, and for that he was so very proud.

And then there was Henian, his captain on this journey, and one of his closest friends. He had suspected that he might want to stay, for he greatly respected Glorfindel, and as one of the best captains in the Greenwood militia, he was the perfect candidate as a future leader of the joint Elven forces the three realms wished to create. He would miss his quiet, tempered character - a stark contrast to his strong presence on the battlefield. The loss of his wise council, his loyalty, wit and companionship would be impossible to replace.

In return however, Greenwood could potentially make two curious and surprising military acquisitions; Lieutenant Elladan Elrondion, and Lieutenant Melven …. Ion (find male elven name), who had both requested to serve with Legolas. Elladan, he knew, had rediscovered his vocation as a warrior, and Melven, he suspected, was searching for change, a life of service that he could be proud of.

There were other considerations too, yet he no longer had the time to ponder on them, as he pulled on a formal, calf-length blue robe, and tied off a green sash at his side, into which he inserted Legaelair's Gondolidrim dagger. Combing out his hair and arranging it with Glorfindel's gift, he opened the door and wandered through the corridors until he reached the library.

The door was open and so he stepped inside, immediately walking over to the balcony where Celeborn stood with Galadriel, Mithrandir and Elrond.

The balcony doors were open, and although sunlight still flooded the hallowed room, candles were dancing merrily along the tapestry-lined walls and tables, lending the room a warm, relaxing atmosphere that would be most propitious to discussion and agreement.

Aerion arrived then, moving straight to Elrond and dipping his head in greeting.

"My Lords," he acknowledged, sweeping the room in a quick reconnaissance of the still missing lords, namely Glorfindel and Gildor. Arching an eyebrow, he reached for a glass of wine, not before briefly catching Erestor's fleeting glance. It seemed he was not the only one to speculate on the reasons.

Moments later, both elves appeared in the doorway with a merry smile on their faces, especially Gildor who was – ecstatic, thought Erestor, for some reason he did not wish to consider at this precise moment.

"Good evening, my Lady, Lords," exclaimed Gildor as he walked towards them, his reclaimed lover at his side.

They bowed to the king as they walked over to Elrond and his group, snagging their own glasses along the way.

Erestor knew they had been at it. He wondered then what Gildor possessed that Glorfindel was attracted to. He was attractive enough to the eye, yet he was not stunning, and then he had that irksome air of arrogance about him ….

"Well then, shall we?" intoned Elrond as he gestured to the long oak table. Taking their places, they remained standing, until Legolas realized they were waiting for him to sit. He would have to get accustomed to the protocol of kingship; a task he knew his father would gladly help him with.

…

As time passed, the atmosphere had relaxed and the afternoon was proving to be both enjoyable and worthwhile, if not somewhat surprising.

Amongst the many agreements, it was decided that Henian would indeed stay and serve with Glorfindel and Cormion. They would learn from each other, implement new ideas, techniques and tactics. This was a necessary step, as not too far into the future, a multi-cultural army would be formed, and their captains would need to be familiar with the style, discipline and organization of all three realms.

They had all been surprised when Elladan had requested to go to the Greenwood, which his father had seen with favorable eyes, but their surprise had been paramount when Melven had made known his desire to tutor in the Greenwood. Both candidatures had been readily accepted by Legolas, although he had made his reservations known to their Lord; he had then resolved to talk to them later and ascertain to what extent those reservations were unfounded.

Cultural exchanges would be made by Mentathiel and Amanthor who would stay in Imladris together with Lindir. It was also decided that Eruanna, Gaerwyn's daughter, would travel to Greenwood to learn of their cuisine, and likewise impart her knowledge of Noldorin cooking, which was more than fine with Legolas, for there would be mushroom delights galore.

Politically, it was Llyn who had requested to stay in Imladris, to learn under the tutorship of Erestor, the master negotiator. She also wished to spend more time with Elrohir, with whom she had recently come into more contact, thanks to her nascent friendship with his sister, Arwen.

Maeron had also specifically asked leave to stay in Imladris, for its renowned healing wing offered much to be learned. That had also been agreed, with the condition that Nestaron Balentar go to the Greenwood, for they had knowledge of poisons that were not documented in Imladris, and the Imladrian healer was a renowned expert in toxins.

The other major issue under discussion was the journey back, and whether all realms should travel together, or whether their departure should be staggered. If there were an attack, they did not want all the lords to be together.

They had finally decided that the Greenwood would depart first, two days hence at daybreak. Later that same day, Gildor would leave with his band of exiles, while Lorien would leave the next morning, accompanied by Arwen, who was to continue tutoring with her grandmother.

Finally, Aerion and his citizens would ride back to their coastal home, where the advisor would inform his lord of the extraordinary events that had taken place during his stay.

And there was no more to speak of, for it had all been discussed, agreed for the most part. Only two more days, and Legolas would find himself on the road again, back to his father, his loving people, and his ailing woods.

As he walked back to his suite, Legolas pondered on the surprising turn of events. He would be travelling with Elladan and Melven, amongst others of Elrond's court. They would be riding with him on his patrols, learning how the Sylvans organized their defenses. He knew the learning curve would be steep, for he doubted they had the slightest inkling as to what they were getting themselves into, both physically and mentally.

Finally arriving at his rooms, he walked straight into the bathing room. Once he had refreshed himself, he donned a light house skirt and padded out to the inviting chaise long before the wide-open balcony, flinging one arm behind him, the other resting on his defined abdomen. The sounds of birdsong and the hum of insects in the gardens below were lulling him into a state of semi-vigil, he felt languid – and lustful.

A knock at his door spoilt the peaceful moment, yet it brought with it the prospect of some afternoon loving, and so he strolled to the door and opened it, only to see Gildor in the company of Glorfindel. Not that it bothered him, he knew Gildor was attracted to him, he was almost positive Glorfindel had brought him here with that very purpose. Indeed Gildor wore a somewhat ill-conceived expression of surprise, as his eyes travelled from Legolas' face, down to the waistband of his skirt.

Smiling at them knowingly, he turned and glided back into the room, heading for the side-board where he kept the wine.

"Good afternoon, my Lords," he droned lazily. "I have cold white wine that is waiting to be tasted."

Finally collecting himself from the initial onslaught of sensations, Gildor schooled his face, straightened his back, and strutted into the room, a smirking Glorfindel just behind.

"Ah, good, for we were – parched," said Gildor somewhat purposefully and seemingly unnecessarily. Legolas knew they had been sharing themselves, it had been clear to all after their tardy arrival at the meeting - yet Gildor seemed to be gloating.

Under these circumstances, Legolas had always sustained that the best way to gain the upper hand was to attack harder than your opponent – not that Legolas thought he had an opponent, but Gildor certainly believed _he_ did.

"Ah, you have both been rutting, I see," he began." Tell me, Gildor. Did you ride, or were you ridden?" he asked, as if requesting the time of day.

Gildor was rather taken aback, for he had been enjoying the baiting, yet the Forest Lord seemed to be completely unconcerned that he had just fucked his lover.

Never one to be dominated, Gildor rose to the unspoken challenge. Glorfindel saw the change in demeanor immediately, deciding to wait for the time being, and see what would transpire - for Gildor was making the same mistake – again.

"Oh, I rode him, and then he rode me – we have quite exhausted ourselves, young Lord," he said as he sipped his wine, watching the lord's reaction from over the brim of his ornate goblet.

Yet Legolas remained impassive, unreadable to the eyes of the gloating exile.

"You must be sore then, Gildor. Yet that will not free you from the inevitable. For if you stay to finish your wine, or indeed drink another cup, you will submit to my wishes, and should you leave, you will not have another opportunity to share with me. With Glorfindel, you may do as you please, of course. He is his own self."

And with that, he turned, and poured himself a glass, waiting for Gildor's reaction, or flight. Yet he just sat there, staring into his glass, pondering his next move.

"Gildor," said Legolas. "You wish to mark what you believe to be your territory, yet you are wrong, my friend. Glorfindel is not yours to mark, and neither is he mine – but his own. Enjoy him – and me, if you so wish, but cease this arrogance, this aberration of love and desire – leave jealousy in the cesspit, where it belongs," he finished, as he stepped out onto the balcony, leaving Gildor in the bedroom with a silent Glorfindel.

The warrior bristled then, for his pride had been touched upon, yet something niggled at him from the back of his mind; it was his honour, for deep down he knew that Legolas was right – he _was_ jealous. He had done this before, many times, and the last incident had been during the meeting to discuss the lord's proclamation as king. He had opposed the idea, supposedly because he could not believe it until he could see it with his own eyes, yet that was not right. He had rejected the idea because he had been irked by the talk of beauty and skill – he had been jealous, again. And then Glorfindel had told him as much, that it had also been jealousy that had ended their relationship. The fault was in _him_, not in Legolas – yet he was angry, irritated – at the _wrong person_.

And so he simply heaved a mighty sight as his adrenalin slowly began to return to its normal levels as he began to reason things out. 'What is wrong with me? I bragged to the _king _about taking _his_ lover, I give Legolas the impression I have no interest in him whatsoever – he may even be thinking I want to fuck him so I may dominate him and become the predominant partner in Glorfindel's life, yet for the love of Elbereth I _do_ desire this elf.' And it was true, for every time he but glimpsed at him his cock would stand to attention.

Glorfindel, meanwhile, simply leant against the chair, listening and watching, and then finally smiling kindly at Gildor, for Legolas had seen him for what he was – a jealous, arrogant, yet passionate and honorable elf. He was glad of the exchange that had taken place, for Gildor needed to hear it from another, not only from he whom he coveted, and it seemed to be working – he knew Gildor would be fretting now, torn between lust for the king and worry he would not be accepted. Of course he did not know Legolas as Glorfindel did; for had Legolas taken offence, Gildor would not still be here – his lover was implacable when it came to speaking the truth and being consequential with it.

Glorfindel decided that the best way to pull Gildor back from his brooding, was to show him he was still welcome, and so he stood and walked towards the balcony, sitting beside the once more reclining king. Bending down, he kissed his lover softly then, watching his eyes as they softened, and then shone for him.

….

Dusk had fallen, the warm blue sky had become dark enough for the first stars to twinkle visibly, the moon still below the horizon.

After they had recovered from their afternoon of frenzied coupling, they had talked quietly. Gildor had sincerely apologized for his behavior, saying in his defense only that Glorfindel was his weakness. He was also left rather sore, yet wonderfully sated, for he had enjoyed the ride, allowing himself to be taken for the first time in many years. He knew that he would allow it again, for he had forgotten how much pleasure was to be had from it, especially with one as skillful as Legolas.

He had left then, leaving Glorfindel and Legolas alone for the first time all day.

"You, my love, have a vicious streak in you – one that has me enflamed still," he murmured, as he brushed his lips over the curved mouth.

"You wish to be mastered, General? I would gladly comply, for as you so rightly say, wood elves have much stamina," and with that, Legolas rolled Glorfindel onto his back, and descended upon him, his face that of a dangerous predator, his prey – the Gondolidrim warrior.


	4. Gratitude

Author's notes:

This chapter has been edited to comply with ffnet policies. As always, you can read the full version on lotrfanfictiondotcom.

Beta reader: Mindirith

CHAPTER FOUR

His last day in Imladris had been a flurry of activity. Packing had been completed and the chests and bags now stood against the wall beside his door, amongst them, Yavanna's ornate chest that housed his ceremonial attire. It was a stark reminder of his departure come the morning.

Their horses had been prepared, their wagons had been inspected, wheels and tack oiled. There was nothing more to do, save load their luggage, which had grown twice its size at least, since their arrival.

Legolas had spent the entire morning and part of the afternoon overseeing their preparations for departure, and organizing the warriors for the dangerous journey back to their woods. With Henian staying in Imladris on the exchange program, Gondien would be his captain for the ride back. Glorfindel had also been closeted with his own patrol, for he would be moving out with Greenwood caravan, escorting them to the eastern borders of the valley.

Now that all had been seen to, Legolas decided to take a last walk through the grounds of the Last Homely House, and perhaps to Celebrian's now vibrant gardens. Then, he would seek out Glorfindel.

It was late afternoon, and the hum of insects was at full force; grasshoppers and crickets, bees and beetles; they all sung their strange song, along with the warbling and whistling of the early evening birds, who added their cheery descant to the inimitable symphony of nature.

He closed his eyes as he breathed in deeply, noting the sweet aroma of Witch Hazel and Honeysuckle, Jasmine and Hyacinth. His home still smelt like this, in the northern areas, at least; in that part of the forest that was still untouched by evil – the part they still called Greenwood.

Opening his eyes once more, he spotted Arwen, not far away. She had seen him with his eyes closed and so she had waited, not wanting to interrupt. Yet she did not speak, she simply gestured to him to follow her, before gliding away on her path through the trees.

Following slowly, he finally emerged into a small clearing, where he found the 'band of friends' lounging beneath the bows, sitting in a ragged circle, obviously having been there for some time, as the remnants of their picnic suggested.

Legolas smiled as he sat beside them, wondering what they had been discussing, for their faces were dour indeed. If he had to guess, he would be inclined to think they spoke of Elladan's imminent departure to the Greenwood, together with Melven.

"It is good that Arwen spotted you, for we wanted to talk to you," began Elrohir.

"Then tell me, my friends," he said, as he crossed his legs and rested his arms upon his knees.

It was Elladan who broke the ensuing silence.

"You come from the meeting?"

"Not directly," he smirked, "but yes, all has been decided."

"And my candidature?"

"Was reiterated, yes, as was Melven's. I will admit I am apprehensive that you do not quite realize what to expect – if I am wrong, tell me, my friend, for I do not wish to patronize you, 'tis not my intention."

"Nay, you are right, I am sure I do not know what I am getting myself into, yet that is a secondary concern to me. I thought it through most thoroughly, Legolas. I have weighed the pros and cons, I have spoken to Elrohir, Arwen, Father and Glorfindel, I have had time enough to digest their words, and I _am _sure – this is what I want – if you will have me."

Legolas searched his eyes then, and decided to see if he could surprise the warrior, shock him with his words, before answering his question.

"You will be in the wilds more than at the fortress. You will fight almost on a daily basis. You will be either wounded or exhausted almost the entire time you spend in the Greenwood. You will make the best and most loyal of friends, and then you will watch them die, not peacefully, but cruelly. You will cradle them in your arms and talk to them, sing to them, as they fade, wailing or screaming, crying and gasping for air, drowning in their own blood, clutching at their severed limbs. You will talk to young brides, bonded mates, young sons and daughters, and tell them that their loved one is dead, that he died a hero to the nation, you will be punched and scratched, slapped and insulted by the ones that are left behind, and your heart will rent itself in two. You will feel terror, anxiety, all-encompasing disgust at the blight of the trees in the south - you will gag and vomit at their foul stench. You will cower in terror before the evil of the Ulairi as their screams rip into the heart of your soul … Elladan – _can_ you? Can you truly do this, my friend?"

They sat and stared at him as a tear escaped Arwen's grief-stricken eyes. Haldir had understood him more than most, yet although Lorien was closer to Dol Guldur, they rarely ventured outside their protected borders.

Elrohir sat staring at his brother beside him, as if echoing the king's words, his expression almost accusing.

"Your words are harsh," said Elladan, "and they give me food for thought, yet they will not sway me, for my conviction is absolute. I want to achieve all I can as a warrior; perhaps I will not be as good as I wish to be, and yet again, perhaps I will. You are telling me that a warrior in the Greenwood relies not only on his blade, and his bow, but on the strength of his mind and soul and I tell you honestly that I do not know what strength I possess, only that I wish it – is that enough?"

Legolas' eyes bored into his, the irisis moving from side to side, reading every nuance, considering every word he had said, contrasted it all with what he already knew of the Peredhil.

"Then yes, I will have you," he said, as he smiled sadly at this brave elf.

Elladan returned the smile as he nodded, yet Elrohir's eyes took to the floor, pensive.

"And what of the others, Legolas. Will Llyn stay? And Amanthor?" asked Rumil, successfully redirecting the conversation from the dour turn it had taken.

"Yes, Llyn will stay to tutor with Erestor. Amanthor and Mentathiel will also stay on the exchange program with Lindir. Maeron is to stay too, you may be surprised, and in his place, we will receive Balentar."

"Balentar is an excellent healer, Legolas," said Elrohir most softly. "He studies toxins, you know, and has a magnificent publication on the topic."

"Yes, I know. 'Tis one of the reasons his candidature was accepted, for you have no documentation of the various classes of spider toxin we have in the Greenwood. It will be valuable to record the information."

The conversation continued a while longer, until Legolas decided it was time to head back, for this was the last night he had with his lovers.

"Well, my friends. I may not get the opportunity later on, or indeed tomorrow, therefore I would bid you goodbye now, here, while we may.

They stood then, as Haldir approached Legolas, a smile on his face as he held his arms out to clasp those of his newfound friend.

"It has been a great pleasure, Legolas. I hope we will meet soon, perhaps in fair Lorien?"

"I would love that and I am honored to call you 'friend'."

Rumil likewise, clasped his forearms. "We have an appointment with the short swords, you and I."

"I look forward to the sport!"

"I will see you later, Legolas," said Elladan as he approached his friend, clasping his shoulder as he walked past him on his way back to the house, for he had much to prepare. He knew that Elrohir and Arwen sought reassurances from the king, and he did not want to be around when they were not given.

"Legolas, look after him; keep him safe, for I cannot survive the loss of him," said Elrohir worriedly. Arwen moved beside her brother then, waiting for Legolas to answer the younger twin's heartfelt plea. Yet they were both sadly disappointed, for Legolas' face became blank as he watched to two, hopeful faces transform into grimaces of pain.

He placed a comforting hand on their shoulders, as he spoke the only words his conscience would allow.

"I cannot promise you anything, my friends. For it is the way of the warrior to face death, accept it even, in service to their nation. Elladan has made his choice and he knows that his life may end, that he may never see you again. All that I can do is to protect him, with my life should it become necessary. That is all I can offer you, 'tis all I have to give."

Elrohir heaved a great sigh as he checked his emotions, nodded curtly at Legolas, and walked away, leaving Arwen alone with the king.

She watched him go, before turning back to Legolas, closing the gap between them then, and cupping his cheek softly in her hand as she gazed into his sad eyes, her own brimming with unshed tears.

"Thank you."

"What is this, Arwen? This feeling that we share?" he whispered.

"For me, it is desire, Legolas, and something more. Yet I know I cannot have you the way I wish it, for you love another, and so," she hesitated a moment, as a single tear traced its way down her marble cheek, "I will settle for your friendship, if you will have it?"

"Of course I will have it!" he said, as he took her into a fierce hug, pulling her close to his body, taking as much as giving the comfort that Arwen needed.

…

Glorfindel had finally found his lover sitting on a stone bench near the house, lost in thought as he stared off into nothing. He had been absent, immersed in thoughts of what Glorfindel could well imagine, for his mask was down, his screen of peace and well-being had slipped and Glorfindel now had a first glimpse into the true feelings of his lover's heart. He looked desperate, his brow furrowed, his eyes downcast, and Glorfindel wanted nothing but to run to him, to take him in his arms and hold him tight, smooth back his hair and wipe the frown from his beauteous visage.

But he stayed himself, for he knew Legolas would not feel comfortable with having shown his raw, untempered feelings, and so he stepped heavily upon the ground, giving him time to compose himself, which he did – and the transformation was nothing short of skillful. Glorfindel wondered then, if the day would ever come when Legolas did not feel he had to hide his feelings thus.

"What say you to procuring a basket, and inviting our dark-haired friends to the pool?"

"Um, that sounds perfect. 'Tis a hot evening, the last I will share with you for some time. I would not waste a single moment of it." And there it was again, it had slipped again, almost imperceptively, yet he _had_ seen it - the intense sadness and melancholy, and again a wave of love and desire crashed over the Gondolidrim warrior.

Legolas had taken it upon himself to extend the personal invitation to Elrond and Erestor, and Glorfindel was to banter with the kitchen staff to provision themselves for the evening.

Both Elrond and Erestor had been delighted at the proposal. Their lordly duties had been fulfilled for the day, and were now free to enjoy their evening. Dressing accordingly, the three lovers walked out into the hot spring evening, bound for the sheltered pool, where they met an already waiting Glorfindel, two large baskets at his feet.

"Gaerwyn has been indulgent, I see," drawled Legolas, as he approached Glorfindel, kissing him hard on the lips as he unbuckled his belt, unclasped his tunic and undershirt, pulled of his boots and breeches, and dived into the peaceful, inky waters of the rocky pool.

Smiling, Glorfindel greeted his other two lovers, who sat with him, loosening their own clothing and inspecting the contents of the baskets.

And what a feast had been prepared for them, for there was cold chicken, a fresh spring salad, stuffed mushrooms, savoury pastries, marzipan, fresh fruit – Erestor was delighted, while Elrond imagined the possibilities that such a feast presented.

Erestor grinned then, as the sounds of splashing reached his ears, and his groin, for the Forest Lord was frolicking naked in the waters.

Elrond was thinking the same. One more night with this marvel of nature, and he would not squander it. And so he unclasped his own tunic, almost ripping the rich cloth from his body as he rose, naked, and ran to the pool before diving in and searching for his woodland prey.

Glorfindel and Erestor were left looking at each other, utterly dumbfounded, for since when had Elrond been so impetuous?

Well, they would not be left alone to guard the picnic, and so they stripped and ran in search of their own woodland feast.

…..

A while later, two sessions of steaming sex and another dip in the pool, and all four sat cross-legged, reaching for this or that delicacy, munching and chewing with relish; Elrond especially was crunching loudly on his favourite pickles, looking for all of him like a child left with the pantry door open. However, it was the deserts they engorged with particular delight and relish. Glorfindel had reached for a piece of marzipan and delicately popped it into the king's delectable mouth. He smiled as he chewed it slowly, savouring the almond and sugar as it slowly dissolved over his tongue.

Their feast lasted many long hours. They ate slowly as they conversed on this or that topic, of their future plans and projects, until finally, the words were spent and they could eat no more, not that there was much left of anything, that is.

They lay back, or reclined against each other, enjoying a glass of liqueur. The conversation had petered out, and there was no need to force it, and so they sat pondering and contemplating, until the sky had darkened completely, the stars shining as brightly as they would this night.

Elrond lay flat on his back as he observed his father's asterism approaching the zenith.

"Would that I could board it at will, stand at the celestial helm and look down upon this land – put things into perspective."

Erestor looked up then, as he contemplated his lord's words, a still embracing Legolas and Glorfindel by his side.

"If you had a particularly powerful eyeglass, you might even be able to see the valley, the elves as ants, moving here and there," mused Erestor.

"And then, you could see things that others cannot," said Glorfindel, as he too, stared up.

"Yet you do not need an eyeglass for that to be so, Elrond. So tell us, what do you see?" asked Legolas, now looking straight into the grey eyes of Elrond, the Lore Master.

"I see – darkness and suffering, pain and loss. I see a light of grey eyes and dark hair, like my sons, yet mortal. I see torture and desperation… light and dark, dark, then light – my visions do not define themselves – 'tis always this swaying from good to bad, and back again – I cannot tell, Legolas – my eyeglass is cracked, my vision of the future distorted."

"Yet there is one true thing, Elrond – Erestor, Glorfindel. And for this one thing, we need no eyeglass, no priviledged position upon the decks of the Vingilot. And this one true thing is that I love Glorfindel of Gondolin with all my Elven soul, and then you, my dark-haired lovers. That we will be together until the ending of this world I have no doubt, in soul if not in body. This I know."

They were quickly entwined in a desperate embrace of love and fear, sorrow yet hope, for they could not have said it any better – there were no more words to be said.

Sometime later, Legolas rose from his blanket, leaving his three lovers sleeping soundly, as he made his way further into the copse, trailing his fingertips over the shrubbery as he passed. He finally came to a beautiful willow, whose boughs were so arched they fell to the ground, creating an umbrella of branch and leaf – the effect was beautiful, and so Legolas decided to sit beneath the cascade, pressing his back against the bark and greeting the elder. He would remember this place and come back to it, however far into the future that may be.

A rustle of leaves marked the arrival of another, as Legolas peered out into the night from under his leafy cave. It was Glorfindel, wandering blindly through the night, in search of him, he assumed.

"Come, my love, for I have found a place of great beauty. Share it with me?"

"I could not find you - I need you," he whispered, as he stood there staring at the king, his shoulders slumped, his eyebrows hooded in sorrow.

"Then come, and embrace me."

….

The evening had been perfect, for no one had disturbed them. They had swam and dived, splashed and played, laughed and wrestled, made love, kissed, talked, reminisced, promised and vowed to see each other again soon, that they would not get themselves killed or maimed, that they would stay strong and not succumb to sorrow or shadow.

They looked so peaceful, so innocent, she thought. Woe that their destiny was so harsh, would be so demanding on these, her favourite elves, those that would shape the course of history not too far into the future.

And how beautifully her protégé shone – for he was content, and of that she was glad. Yet the pang of regret she felt every time his destiny came into her mind's eye was willing her to concede a boon, should he emerge victorious.

"Legolas."

…..

How happy he felt at that moment, lost in reverie as he was. Yet his mind wandered the memories that the evening had yielded – those wonderful moments of happiness, of bliss, ecstasy and friendship. Would it be like this in the undying lands? Would he make it there? Or would he perish on the battle field? _That _he could not say, yet if he could perpetuate these moments and make a life of them, how wonderful it was to be immortal.

He was tired, so tired, and so he left his pleasant ponderings and surrendered himself to deep sleep, encircled in Glorfindel's powerful, protective embrace.

'_When all is done, a present shall be gifted. For the light that is sundered may return to its source, should friendship prevail.'_

He awoke with a start, the words lingering in his mind as he struggled for rational thought, his mind grappling for the words that would not, quite, materialize.

…..


	5. All Good Things

Author's note: this is the final chapter of this first book. I sincerely hope you have enjoyed the tales within it, as much as I did writing them. Work is already underway for book 2, in which Legolas returns to the woods in the company of Elladan and Melven, and a whole new world of adventure, friendship, endurance and sacrifice.

I would like to show my utter gratitude to Mindirith, whose diligent and conscientious work has contributed enormously to the quality of my writing. I hope to count on her help again for book two, Arcane Land.

Chapter Five: All Good Things

Dawn, the last he would see in Imladris for a long time, he knew.

Gripping the railings tightly in his anxious hands, he inhaled the sweet morning breeze, closing his eyes and greeting the forests. They were tense, expectant, for they knew that today, many elves would set out on their journeys home, would walk their paths, touch their barks, sing to them, protect them.

Legolas smiled at their childish enthusiasm, and he sent a wave of love and gratefulness – not quite sure how he had done it, yet he had been answered most emphatically by the sudden surge in their hum; he was, indeed, learning new skills.

Last night had been a balm to his weeping soul, for he had loved and been loved most thoroughly. Glorfindel especially, had succored and comforted him in a way he had not been since remembering his mother's inimitable touch.

He remembered then, the way he had awoken abruptly, before they had all collected their belongings and strolled quietly into the house, each to his own quarters, for activity would start at dawn tomorrow, and each would be in his own role of leadership.

Someone had spoken to him – words which at first he could not remember, yet had finally come to him. A prophesy it seemed to him, its enunciator becoming clear to him. Yet the meaning, however, was anything but – he deduced only that he was to be given a gift of some kind, if friendship was kindled – with whom he knew not, when, or why - these were questions he knew he would have to wait many years in order to fathom, and so he would push the incident to the back of his mind where it would bother him no more; he knew that it would surface once the relevant events took place.

His heart felt leaden, for he had been so happy here, so carefree; he had frolicked as a child would, gallivanted with the lords, he had felt such bliss. Yet it was but a brief interlude in his life of duty, of service and sacrifice. He had accepted that a long time ago, when he had been crowned Prince of Greenwood, but now he was King of the Forests, and his sacrifice became all the more necessary. He was not his own person, his primary objective would always be service to others, and perhaps – from time to time, when the lady saw fit, she would allow him these small moments of peace, which however brief, would serve to comfort him in the dark times in between them. That is what would keep him going, the promise that soon, soon he would be allowed to love once more, lay in the arms of he whom he adored, but could not be with – not yet.

"Is all well in fair Imladris this morning, young Prince," said a voice from the adjacent balcony.

Legolas looked at the wizened features of the 'old man' who had greeted him, for he had used the exact same words he had that first day they had met, only this time he was smoking his pipe.

"Istar? You are the protégé of Manwe, are you not?"

"Aye, that is so, young Prince. And you? Who is your protector? For you have one, do you not?"

"Indeed I do, Lady Yavanna be praised," he smiled then. For on that first day, he had not been inclined to speak of it, could not, for it had not been the time. Now, however, there was nothing to hide, and he was glad of it.

They both smiled at each other then, knowing in their hearts that their fates were irrevocably entwined, they would meet their final destinies together, of that they were both sure.

Mithrandir puffed on his pipe pensively.

It was Legolas who broke the pensive silence with a question he had been meaning to ask for a while now.

"Mithrandir, what are your movements now? Where will you go?"

"I would first take council with my superior, Curunir. I am sure he is abreast of what has come to pass here, but I must ensure that this is, indeed the case. From there, perhaps I will visit the Horse Lords, before travelling to Lorien. I will visit you too, my boy, see how you fare with old Radagast!"

"Ah, yes. I am sure we will have a few anecdotes for you, my friend."

"Indeed. And so it ends, and you have done so well, my King," he said as he stared out into the forests beyond.

"Yes, it is done, and I believe we have all benefited. The military alliance will be of vital significance in the coming years, Mithrandir, although I suppose you already know this. Orc activity is increasing with every year - they are becoming stronger, more skilled with weapons, there is a plan in action yet we know not where it comes from, although the 'who' is something we all suspect. That we can call on Imladris or Lorien may one day save our realm, Olorin."

Mithrandir did turn then, for he was surprised by how pessimistic Legolas had sounded.

"You believe it may come to that?"

"I do, yet perhaps not for a while. It will be crucial for the three realms to keep each other informed; our combined intelligence is the only way to ascertain where the threat is coming from, and allow us to plan ahead, that we not be surprised and slaughtered due to ignorance."

"Yes, you are right of course. And what of you? For you have found comfort here, have you not?"

After a short pause, Legolas answered him the best way he could.

"I have found more than comfort, Mithrandir. And perhaps it will help me through these dark times ahead, for they _are _coming, and quicker than any of us believe," he said, watching Mithrandir's reaction to what he had said.

The wizard indeed believed him, knew he was right, he realized, as he puffed out a perfect smoke ring which Legolas stared at, a sense of dread inundating him.

"Elbereth guard us," whispered Legolas, as the ring slowly dissipated.

...

The trunks and packages he would take back with him stood ominously in the corner of his rooms, a stark reminder of his imminent departure. Amongst it all, the wonderous chest gifted to him by the Lady Yavanna.

A brisk knock on his door revealed Benogelir who bowed low and moved to retrieve the objects to be placed in the wagons. He would need to make various trips, and so Legolas left the room, bound for breakfast, which he hoped he would not choke on.

Only the lords and dignitaries sat at the tables, for everyone else was about their duties, preparing the impressive caravan of elves that the Greenwood had become. For fifty had arrived for the festival, which had then been joined by ten others for the proclamation. They would lose Henian, Llyn, Maeron, Mentathiel and Amanthor, but were gaining Elladan, Melven, Balentar and Eruanna.

The table was in stark contrast with the hustle and bustle of activity going on around them. No one spoke, faces carefully schooled as they stood to bow, before resuming their silent breakfast. Taking his place, he performed his now famous routine, reaching for this or that plate, the bowl of steaming eggs, ripping a hearty chunk of bread.

It was Erestor, who once more looked on, then up at the lord, yet this time, instead of frowning paternally, a broad smile lit up his face, revealing his pearly white teeth.

"Come rain or sun, happiness or sorrow, your breakfast will always be the heartiest I have ever seen," he exclaimed.

"Come now, Lord Erestor, what would you have me do? Starve myself and become as a sapling twig?"

"Nay, never that. You are mighty fine the way you are, my King," he finished, although his smile faded somewhat, for the spark of joviality had petered out as he was reminded of the body he would not touch for a long time.

Aradan and Llyn listened as they ate. They had known this day would be difficult for their Lord, just as it would be for them, and they had not been wrong. Under his cool exterior, they could see the heaviness, the regret, the love. As one of his most intimate friends, it would normally fall to her, together with Galdithion and Henian to support him, listen to him when he was inclined to talk, yet now, they would be powerless to help, except Galdithion – for both she and Henian were staying in Imladris.

Elrond had said not a word as he finally set down his utensils, begging his leave to see to some final arrangements, as Erestor rose and followed his lord, bowing to the remaining guests.

"Where is Lord Glorfindel?" asked Gildor. Yet he regretted the question as he was met by a table-full of baleful expressions, and a silent Forest Lord. He truly had spent too long in the wilds, for he had been insensitive, yet he could not take the question back.

"I believe he is overseeing the escort, Lord Gildor," said Celeborn in a carefully measured tone.

"Ah, that is it, of course. Well, if you will excuse me, perhaps I will see if I can lend a hand."

"Of course," replied Galadriel, glancing over at Legolas, who was eating quietly, not once lifting his head.

However, Elrohir caught his attention as he sat next to Legolas, his own breakfast finished. Turning his head to great him, Legolas waited for him to speak.

"Forgive me, my friend. Yesterday, I asked the impossible of you. I know you cannot promise to keep him safe, and yet I know you will protect him, and that is as much as I can ask."

"I am glad we are not parting on unfriendly terms, Elrohir, and that you have understood my words. I know you are both experienced warriors, yet I also know that warfare in our two realms is so very different. I felt the need to point that out, lest Elladan have second thoughts. What he will find in the Greenwood is not what he is expecting, this I know. And I do not mean to scare you, his siblings, for there are many marvels to behold, Elrohir, many friends to be had, many great deeds I know he will do – you will see."

Elrohir smiled then, for this elf had such confidence in his brother, he felt almost ashamed. He knew part of the reason why his brother wanted this exchange – and although it saddened him, deep down he knew he was right. It was time to explore their own destinies, and see what life had to offer them, separated or together.

They embraced as good friends do, before each moved their own separate ways.

….

Legolas found himself at a loss. Everything was ready, all he really wanted to do was find Glorfindel, but he was busy. Imladris was providing an escort for them, until they left the borders of the valley, which meant they would be riding together for two days. But they would both be in their roles as leaders, they would not be free to say goodbye the way Legolas wanted.

He wandered down the halls, passing the many elves carrying chests as they chattered wildly in excitement about the journey back, for they were all eager to leave, except him.

Walking into the less used areas of the upper household, his eyes travelled over the rich tapestries and paintings lining the high walls. They told of tales long passed, of battles, deaths, births, coronations, lost loves. He even spotted his grandfather, standing tall upon a high cliff, his long blond locks streaming out behind him.

Yet it was the painting of Lady Celebrian that had drawn him most. It was a portrait, painted as the lady sat slightly off to the side, yet looking straight ahead. She was beautiful, yet not spectacularly so. Her allure resided in the calm, intelligent expression - she radiated empathy and good will, she seemed wise yet fun-loving, strong yet sensitive, and he was entranced by this enigmatic lady, his lover's bonded mate.

He had been so lost in his appreciation of the Lady of Imladris, that he failed to notice Galadriel, now standing at his shoulder.

"Tell me your thoughts, Legolas."

"I was thinking," he began softly, "that her beauty is not only that which is plain to see for most, but of a different nature. She strikes me as having a keen mind, a sharp wit and a streak of playfulness that would contrast with her unparalleled ability to strike empathy into the hearts of those she meets. She is surely a most extraordinary woman."

Galadriel was taken aback by his astuteness – 'had he read all that from the expression on her face?'

"You are right on all counts, Legolas. You will meet her one day, and I wager she will see what Elrond does in you, what I see in you, for blessed was the day you came to us, fair king," began Galadriel. "I will give thanks always for that, and remember your great deed for so long as I shall live, for you have shown me that my daughter is restored, healthy and happy once more, waiting on the white shores for the return of her family – there is no greater gift, no greater love to give, my King," she finished.

Turning to her now, he saw her then, for the first time; he saw the mother, the broiling emotion under the cool, severe shell of the Lady of Light. And so he smiled, silently thanking her for the insight she had allowed him.

"We will meet again, will we not, my Lady?" asked Legolas, knowing surely that they would.

"Indeed we will. Although hard times lie ahead for both our realms, and so it may be a while, but yes, we will see each other again, the Valar be praised," she finished, before gliding away silently, leaving Legolas to his solitary wanderings once more.

Finally descending the steps to the lower floor, Legolas wandered into the bustling kitchens where activity was frantic. Everyone worked at full speed preparing packs for travelling, water, lembas, dried fruits. Gaerwyn and Brathina were at the front of it all, yet Legolas did not escape their attention, as they bowed low to him as he approached.

"My dear friends," began Legolas. It is a great honour that your daughter Eruanna will be travelling back to the Greenwood with us. I know that our head cook Silima will be delighted to have an apprentice once more. She is a strong-charactered lady…" he chuckled then as a memory came back to him, "she had to be to deal with mischievous little princes who had a penchance for hot bread and pine-nut cakes!"

Gaerwyn laughed, but Brathina only smiled as she bowed her head, the sadness plain to see, for her daughter was young, innocent still, had so much to learn about so many things.

"My Lady," said Legolas softly as he approached her, placing his finger under her down-turned chin, bringing her eyes up to meet his.

"She will live with Silima and her family. They have a daughter of the same age as Eruanna. Her husband is a warrior in the Home Guard. She will want for nothing, you have my promise."

She finally looked up, her eyes swimming, yet finding the courage to speak out.

"I, I will miss her is all, my Lord. She is so young, so vulnerable," she stressed, her eyes pleading with him to reassure her.

"Silima and Beridhren will treat her as another daughter, Brathina. More than this I will make sure that she is well, this I swear, and before you know it, she will be back, her satchel full of recipes to delight the citizens of Imladris!"

She smiled timidly and nodded, as Gaerwyn laughed as he patted his wife on the shoulder. "That she will! We thank you for your reassurance, my King. We trust you, have done since we met you, and now, you have our daughter, that she may learn, experience life, and come back to us whole and hail, full of life and joy – "

"Thank you, Gaerwyn, Brathina. My stay has been most enjoyable, and so much more for your stunning culinary creations. I look forward to coming back soon."

"Then safe journey, my Lord, and the Valar willing, we will see each other again, whole and hail."

And with that, Legolas left the kitchens and wandered out into the gardens, bound for the sentinel in Celebrian's gardens, as the all-too familiar weight of responsibility began to take hold once more.

…

He placed his strong hand over the rough bark of the now vibrant tree, closing his eyes and opening his mind to its hum.

It was deep and wise, subdued yet content. It told Legolas that despite the years of suffering, life was coming back to it, it was learning to feel joy once more, and although it would never again be in the company of its lady, it would learn to overcome that loss. However, Legolas smiled as an idea popped into his head. If he could, if there was any way, he would take seeds with him on his journey over the sea – if he ever made it.

As Legolas continued to walk through and beyond the gardens, he left a quivering, vibrant, exultant sentinel proudly marking the entrance to Celebrian's extraordinary gardens, the promise of immortality prickling its leafy senses.

He saw Gildor off in the distance, walking towards him.

"Did you find our wayward general, Gildor?" asked Legolas.

"I did not, Legolas, he is nowhere to be found. I think perhaps he does not want to be, at least not by me," he said ruefully.

Legolas simply smiled. He knew not the veracity in that statement, yet he himself had an idea of where he might find his lover.

"It was a pleasure to know you, Gildor. I look forward to our reunion."

"The pleasure was mine, Legolas. I bid you safe journey, and fervently hope we meet again soon."

With one last smile, they parted ways, Legolas bound for the rocky pool where they had come to picnic and swim, where they had spent such happy moments. It was here, perched upon a stone at the pool's edge, that he found Glorfindel.

"Everything is ready then," said Legolas levelly.

"Yes, everything is done," he replied as he looked at his lover who now knelt by his side.

"_Don't_, Legolas. Don't say goodbye," he pleaded, his eyes boring into the vibrant green irises of his extraordinary lover, his face desperate.

"Alright, I will say only that we will meet again soon, my love. Yet I know not the meaning of 'soon,' for which of us is to say how long our duties will keep us from each other?"

"I know, yet we will find a way – _I _will find a way," he said earnestly as he held his lover's gaze, and Legolas knew it to be true, for there was anguish in the warrior's eyes, yet there was also determination and steely resolve; his Gondolidrim lover would find him sooner than later, and so he smiled then, watching as Glorfindel's face also slowly began to lighten, his brow smoothing, his eyes softening, his lips curling upwards, until they both moved into each other and simply cherished the closeness. There was nothing else to say, no oaths to make other than the words already uttered, the deeds already done.

It was Elrond and Erestor who found them thus, entwined in each other's arms, utterly still, utterly silent.

They moved towards the kneeling pair and sunk down, touching them tentatively, silently begging leave to join the embrace. Opening their arms, the four elves embraced - for the last time in many years, each of them silently pledging their love and friendship, for what they had shared, what they would continue to share, was a miracle – a blessing so great it would carry them all through the darkness that lurked not far from the horizon.

THE END


End file.
